


Thanks for the memories

by capeofstorm



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Pining, References to suicide attempts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capeofstorm/pseuds/capeofstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is quite tiring when you can't die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanks for the memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raitheemohugger](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=raitheemohugger).



It was Claude Raines – _uncle_ Claude – who finally took a pity on her and explained what her ability entailed, exactly. Claire remembers her tears and his harsh, honest words. She remembers his hands hot on her arms, his breath stale and hot and his eyes angry and full of pity.

“You won’t die, Claire. Ever.”

“No, no, you can’t be right. You can’t!”

He snarled and shook her violently.

“Oh, believe me, Claire, you won’t die. I’ve seen someone like you before. I can only hope you will find a way to kill yourself before you turn out to be like him. Because, after a few centuries, you will become a heartless bitch, make no mistake.”

She thrashed against his grip on her and screamed, refusing to acknowledge what he told her. Her dad rushed through the door and freed her from Claude, shielding her in his arms, her face in his shirt, tears streaming down her face.

“The hell you’re doing, Claude?! Did you have to tell her _now_?!”

Claude shrugged, seemingly unaffected.

“Just telling her the truth, Noah. People suck and she needs to know it now, before someone like Adam Monroe resurfaces again and tries to show her all the wonders of _their_ world.”

*

She went about her life mechanically. She went to work, came back, read the newspaper, which always mentioned an unsolved murder with the victim’s head sliced open, watched TV, went to bed. She moved from town to town every three months, just to be sure no-one would ever be able to find her. She never made friends, learning a long time ago that it only made it worse for her. She existed one hour at a time, passing her life away. She didn’t keep track of the days exactly, she just knew when she had to move. It was a habit of hers. It’s been fifty years since any one hunted people with abilities, but she knew she had to be on the run, still. She felt it in the back of her head, the need to run, to get away. Just like she knew Sylar was alive, that time after Primatech. She knew what the trail of bodies meant. She knew he wasn’t far behind.

*

Even her body could deteriorate, it turned out. She was tired of running and hiding, of pretending to be someone else. Her psyche was rejecting her power, just like Hiro’s body rejected his. She stopped eating, stopped drinking and yet she still went on, she never died forever; she was always on the edge, always coming back. Every night she wished _he_ would come by and put her out of her misery but it was never him who came to her at night. She knew what was happening to her. She was hallucinating. It was impossible that her brothers visited her, that Nathan came by and scolded her for self-pity, that Angela gave her an angry glare while saying that Petrellis never gave up.

*

She tossed and turned on her bed, waiting for another hallucination. She wanted to see who would come next, who would come and try to convince her to go on. It was a bit masochistic, recalling all those people she loved and reliving their deaths all over again, but at some level it helped her. It mended her. She was always visited by the person she needed the most at the time.

Noah stood in her bedroom’s doorway, his glasses firmly on his nose as he looked down at her.

“Really, Claire-bear, you shouldn’t waste away. You shouldn’t let my sacrifice be wasted. You should live, just as I died for you to be able to.”

She clutched her bed sheets tightly and tried to hold in her tears. Seeing him so normal, so alive, so reproachful was so painful, so _freeing_.

“I never asked you to die for me,” she whispered.

Her hand covered her mouth and she looked fearfully at her father. She shouldn’t have spoken, she never spoke to them, afraid they’d disappear.

Noah crossed his arms in front of him and sighed.

“It’s what fathers do for their daughters. They die so their daughters may live on. I would do it all over again, even knowing that you would become like this one day. Because, at least, you’d be alive. You can do so much good to this world, Claire, so much good. You could study, gather knowledge, you could show people how to live. You are too good to become like Monroe. Never let Claude’s words become true, Claire-bear. It is you who decides what to do.”

She shook her head.

“Why do you believe in me, dad? You should want me dead. You should have let me die. That’s all I want, I just want to be normal.”

“You’re special, Claire,” she recoiled hearing the word. “You have what is needed to change the world, if you only believed in yourself and stopped this self-pity. You could make us all proud of you.”

She curled in her bed, refusing to answer. She just looked at her dad, taking his vision in. She would think about what he said to her later on, when he wasn’t here, when she wouldn’t waste those precious moments. He seemed to understand what she thought as he smiled and nodded his head.

“Sleep. I will look over you, Claire-bear.”

*

She was asleep when she felt someone’s hands on her, caressing her body and making it alive the way it hadn’t been alive for a long time. She felt long fingers brush through her hair, hot breath caress her face. She opened her eyes only to stare in warm brown eyes that made her want to cry, to scream, to ravage and kill. She felt his lips kiss her collarbone, his tongue darting at her pulse point, his teeth nibbling at her neck. She shoved at him weakly. He straightened his crooked smile in place as he sneered at her.

“What is it, Claire? Isn’t this the way you always wanted me? Didn’t you want me to kiss you, to caress you, to fuck you?”

She breathed in sharply and sat up in her bed, the sheets falling to her lap, uncovering her night gown. She raised her hand and slapped him with all the strength she could muster. His head reeled back with the impact.

“What I wanted is no longer concern of yours, Peter. You’re dead.”

He laughed bitterly.

“And yet here I am, conjured up by your mind, because you needed me. You still want me, Claire, that will never change.”

“It changed the day I’ve learned you wouldn’t take my power. The day you betrayed me and chose to die instead!”

She scrambled off of her bed and stood at the opposing end of the room. The hurt in her was still raw, powered by envy that Peter got to decide his fate when she didn’t. She could recall perfectly his cold refusal to take her power, to heal and live. She could still hear his words in her head.

_“No, Claire. Leave me be, I want to die. It’s better this way.”_

She put her arms around her, hugging herself.

“Still angry I chose death over you, Claire?”

She stiffened at his words and turned to face him. He sat leisurely at her bed, his legs stretched on it, his arms supporting his body as he laid back. He was still wearing that cream shirt he had on him the day he died. She could see the blood and holes in it and wondered briefly if he had the wounds, too. Knowing her sick mind, he did. He stretched, knowing she had her eyes on him.

“You sure you don’t want me to take you up on your offer, Claire? Your mind screamed at me so loudly when I was still alive. The images you conjured, the emotions you felt. Even though I never wanted to want you, I had to react to it. Do you know I jerked off every night while you lay in your bed next door and came up with all those fantasies?”

She caught her breath and shook her head. Peter’s hand traced his body and came to rest at his hip. He sprang to his feet quickly, startling her and cornering her. His body pressed into hers, hard and warm. She protested weakly as his mouth found her and he kissed her bruisingly. His hands hitched her gown to her hips as his leg nestled between hers. She moaned lightly as sandalwood scent hit her. It triggered a memory in her, of other brown eyes that burned into her, of another pair of lips that whispered into her ear. She stopped struggling and kissed him back.

“Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist, Claire-bear,” Peter’s voice crowed his victory in her ear and she wished it was another voice that made her shiver, deep and dark and husky.

She closed her eyes against the onslaught of sensations and felt his hand slide her panties off her and probe her with his fingers. It felt wrong, sick and disgusting, as she always knew it would. She ground her teeth together as he slid into her. He was rough, not sparing her, showing her that they would never be, couldn’t ever be the way she wanted it so many years ago. She felt tears stream down her face as she yelled name of another man when she climaxed. He followed soon after her, his forehead resting against her. She opened her eyes and looked into his. He smiled and kissed her nose.

“No need to be angry, Claire-bear,” he said mockingly. “After all, you’d choose what I chose, too. That is, if you could die.”

*

Her mother visited her, flowery scent, sad blue eyes and wrinkled hands. She sat at Claire’s bed, stroking her hair and singing Claire’s favourite lullaby from her childhood, just like she used to do when Claire had nightmares. Claire closed her eyes and listened to her mother’s voice, feeling her touch on her skin and cried soundlessly as her mind told her that Sandra died over a century ago. She refused the truth, soaking up her mother’s love and the comfort she gave. When the morning came she succumbed to sleep and when she woke up Sandra was gone.

*

When she moved to Cincinnati, she put more effort in her life. She started eating again, she tried to be the girl she was over a century ago. She tried to mend herself.

At night, she still waited. Most of the people she loved and cared about visited her already. Those who made her into the person she was before all this, those who made her into the person she was before they died. Her nightly visits included bloodied Jackie, who came into her room quietly and started to reminiscence about the days when they were still the best of friends, of shared strawberry puddings, clothes and tears. She reminded Claire of their code and the first rule – they never ignored the other’s wishes. Claire closed her eyes as she recalled Jackie’s horrified screams and her begging for Claire to run, run away, run before she would be next. Then it was Brody, his eyes cold and calculating one moment and empty and confused the other when he kept asking her who he was, who she was, what was he doing here?

The night marking her second month in the city, she woke up from a shallow slumber to see West hovering outside her window. She got out of her bed quickly and opened the window to let him in, bracing herself for what he came to say. West simply looked at her, shaking his head disappointedly.

“So you really are one of them. And here I hoped I was wrong,” he said quietly, the voice she used to love cutting through her.  
She opened her lips to say he was wrong, when he looked at her for the last time and flew away. She stared at the sky until it brightened, then closed the window and went back to her bed.

The following night she came into her bedroom to find Alex sitting on her floor. She let go of the glass she had in her hand and gasped. Alex flexed his fingers and the glass lowered itself slowly to the ground at the last second, all in one piece. She furrowed her brow at him.

“You helped me, gave me new life, Claire. So why are you so hypocritical and are wasting yours?”

He was gone before she could respond.

*

There were two visions she was afraid of, knowing she would never be able to face them. She wasn’t sure how she could face the man she killed. And she wasn’t sure she would react the way she always did when she’d see the man who made her life hell, before everyone she loved died. She lived fearing and hoping for those two visions. Because she knew that without them, she would never be able to heal. And that scared her more than anything.

*

She woke up from a nightmare, her breath short and shuddery, her heart pumping loudly in her chest. Something was wrong, she felt it. She dared a look at the door of her little overstuffed bedroom and felt her blood freeze.

In the entrance to her bedroom stood Danko’s agent in his black SWAT gear, without his goggles or gun. There was a gaping hole in his chest and he looked at her accusingly.

She could still remember the feeling of taking someone else’s life. She had died a million times by now, not remembering most of them, it was so repetitive. She remembered the lack of oxygen, the (presumed) pain, the darkness, gasping for her first breath, shielding her eyes and the bone deep disappointment of awakening from a dream that she wanted to last forever. That was something ordinary for her.

But the power of taking someone else’s life, that she couldn’t forget. Awhile back, while she still tried to be normal, to go about her life the way everyone wanted her to she counted how much time has passed since she killed for the first time. She felt how it changed her, how it made her the same as _him_. The primal elation mixed with fear she felt when she saw life draining from her victim’s eyes, the shuddery breaths he took as he tried to crawl away from her, it all stayed with her. Later on, she was envious of his death, envious of the freedom she gave him and was furious with him, because he _didn’t understand_ what she gave him.

She remembered how sickened she was when she shot him. How part of her screamed at her, part of her watched dejectedly and enviously as he died. He was no-one to her, simply a soldier sent after her by the Hunter, someone she had to take out or she would be captured. It was a matter of survival and since she was trapped, she did the only thing that was left. She took his life.

She felt his eyes on her, his silence heavy. It made her remember how she sat near his body, her eyes taking everything in, her brain refusing to make sense of it. She remembered the deep laugh that startled her as she looked up at Sylar. He looked at her and reached down to help her stand up. She felt his hands burn through her clothes and struggled against his hold. He lowered his head to her ear and chuckled.

_“It seems we are the same in the end, Claire. You are just like me.”_

At that moment, her mind flashed to Peter’s story how she became a cold blooded killer and knew something went really, really wrong in that time.

As the soldier looked at her she looked back at him, realising what exactly was wrong with the future Peter saw before. It didn’t involve Sylar as the bad guy. She didn’t sleep that night and the following morning, when she came to work Maggie, her supervisor sent her back home to get some sleep.

“I don’t know what is wrong, Claire, but take care. Whatever it is, you can work through it. You’re a strong girl.”

*

Two weeks after her boss sent her home, Claire moved out of Chicago. She got on a bus to New York and tried to convince herself she needed to do it. Ever since that night when Danko’s soldier appeared before her, she didn’t have any more visions. She decided she needed to know what happened, why he didn’t come, as he usually did. She put her head against the window and drifted to sleep, lulled by the murmur of the bus’ engine.

*

She moved through Washington automatically, her feet carrying her towards that hotel. That’s where it all started and that’s where she knew she’d find him. She stepped into the building and was approached by a receptionist.

“Miss Bennet? This way, please. He’s waiting for you.” The woman gestured towards the elevator.

She nodded her head and entered the elevator. He knew she would come, he was waiting for her. It didn’t surprise her. The elevator stooped and its door opened. She moved towards the suite they occupied previously. She hesitated before the door. Maybe she shouldn’t, maybe she was wrong in her assumptions. Either way, she would know when she confronted him. She took a deep breath and reached for the handle. The door opened before she could open it and she heard his voice beckon her in.

“Come in, Claire. I have been waiting for you.”

She closed her eyes, stepped in and felt the door close behind her.

*

She looked miserable. Her skin shallow and her hair lifeless. Her eyes were closed, but he was sure they, too, were dull. He sat at the couch, a glass of wine in his hand, another one standing at the table. He cocked his head to the side as he saw her approach him, her eyes still closed.

“You won’t get anywhere if your eyes are closed, Claire.”

He saw the shiver that ran through her as she heard him. Interesting.

Her eyes opened and she took him in. She looked around the room and noticed it looked exactly the same as it did that day.

“Ah, yes, how a little authority can make your life easier,” he drawled, raising his glass to toast her.

She took the glass from the table and moved to seat near him, her posture rigid, not facing him. He could hear her heart thumping steadily, her breath leaving her in little gasps. After all this time he spent with her as someone else, it felt strange to him to be near her as his normal self. He took in her profile and remembered how she screamed his name when he fucked her as Peter.

“You didn’t come back.”

Her soft words shook him out of his trance.

“Why should I? You aren’t broken anymore. You’re fixed.” He sipped wine from his glass.

She turned her body towards him.

“Do I look fixed to you?”

“You’re fixed Claire. Now you can do anything you want. You simply need to decide what to do next.”

She looked into her glass and traced the rim with her finger. Her brows furrowed and he knew she was thinking it over.

“Why did you do it?”

Sylar raised his hand and combed his fingers through her hair. He leaned into her, his lips touching her ear.

“I told you you’d love me some day. I was just trying to help you with that. What happens now is entirely up to you.”

He heard her gulp and lowered his head to kiss her neck. He nipped at it with his teeth and felt her gasp. She turned her head to give him more access and clenched her hand in his shirt. He let his glass fall to the floor, the wine staining the fine rug as he knocked her glass out of her hand. She moved in to straddle him and he gripped her hips tightly. Her hands wove themselves through his hair, scratching at his scalp.

He opened her blouse and threw it to the floor. He finally had her, after so many years of careful planning and preparing, she finally was where he wanted her. He stopped lapping at her breasts to look up at her face, only to find her smiling down at him.

“You know this is forever, right? That there’s no way out?”

He needed to know she knew that. He needed to know she was sure about it. She nodded her head and kissed him.

He felt intoxicated. His hand moved along her body, remembering it, how smooth it felt, how she arched into him when his fingers traced her spine, how she moaned when he kissed under her breasts. He didn’t even remember how they got rid of the rest of their clothes, he was too occupied with the feel of her body underneath his, so soft and warm and desperate for him. He hooked one of her legs around his hip and reached down to her mound. He groaned lowly as he felt her warm and wet for him. She arched her hips, wanting him to press his hand more firmly against her.

He didn’t have time for that. He needed to have her now, before she could think it over, before all her morals and rules and dreams from the time she was a cheerleader came back to her, before she realised she didn’t want him. He moved inside of her, his eyes closing and her moaning. He started to move steadily in fast, hard strokes, unable to wait or slow down. He felt Claire’s hands at his back, her fingers digging into his skin. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, her face screwed up in concentration, her head lolling from side to side, her lips moving silently.

He leaned in to kiss her, his tongue moving inside her mouth, licking at her teeth, palate, gums, committing her taste to his memory. She kissed him back with equal need, her body moving in tandem with his. He sneaked his hand down her body to find her clit and rubbed it with his thumb. She threw her head back, stopping their kiss. Her eyes were wide open and she keened as she came around him, warm and pulsing. He thrust deeply into her and followed her with a moan. His body sagged against her, his head resting against her collarbone, her fingers combing his hair soothingly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he heard her voice in his ear.

He nodded against her and tightened his grip on her waist.

Of course she wasn’t going anywhere, she finally was where he wanted her all along.


End file.
